Comfort In Pain
by Diana McKenzie
Summary: At night, Sam can try and make things right again, even if it's a losing battle.


_This was written in 2006 for a contest on 60_minute_fics on Livejournal. I used the two-word prompt 'forgotten night'. As usual, I own nothing. Reviews and concrit are welcome and encouraged!_

**Comfort In Pain**

**How I wish I could walk through the doors of my mind;  
Hold memory close at hand,  
Help me understand the years.  
How I wish I could choose between Heaven and Hell.  
How I wish I would save my soul.  
I'm so cold from fear.  
I guess it's time I run far, far away; find comfort in pain.**

**- James Blunt 'Tears and Rain'**

When night fell, Sam came alive and died at the same time. Night was a hole; a vast expanse of hours between the death of one day and the birth of another. Night was his punishment, his purgatory. There, in that emptiness, he could try and atone for his sins. He could try in vain to make everything right again. It was a fruitless mission, because in his heart of hearts, Sam knew he could never put back together the pieces that were broken. The pieces that he had broken.

All his life, Sam had been breaking things. Some people, like Dean, made things right, mended them. Dean was the fixer, the glue. He held everything together; Sam tore it apart.

He couldn't even remember the first night he had broken something. His brother's world, his father's heart. To know anything about it, he'd had to ask. Not that either Dad or Dean had been particularly keen to recollect the details for him, yet Sam knew they both relived that night in their own ways. Dean had never lied to him about it. He said he didn't remember a lot, but Sam felt his brother remembered enough, and he wished that he could remember something for himself. A touch, a smell, a feeling - anything at all. But there was nothing. It was selfish, but hey, wasn't that supposed to be part of his make-up? He'd been called selfish enough times, to the point where he reasoned it must be true. But he still wanted to know. If it had been him that had lured that thing to them, then he wanted to remember something of the woman who'd died for him. Sometimes, if he thought so hard it began to hurt, Sam could make himself think he remembered the scent of her hair. But he'd never know if that was real, or just a lie he was telling himself. He couldn't miss her; he'd never known her. But he wanted to love her. Like Dean did. Like Dad did.

What was it about him? He couldn't understand it. His visions surely couldn't be reason enough to shatter anything he touched? Like Mom, like Jess. Now Jess Sam could remember. Every inch of her, every facet was tucked away safely inside him, so that she was always with him. Though it hurt so badly that sometimes he wished her memory would leave him alone. But every time that thought entered his head, the very idea of betraying her shamed him so deeply. He couldn't put aside her memory, because without that, there'd be nothing left, except the knowledge that he could have saved her.

The visions scared him. He wouldn't admit how frightened he was, not ever, but he was afraid. He didn't know what he was turning in to. Sure it starts as visions, which can even save people if used right. Then it turns in to a bit of telekinesis, which he can't control, but where does it end up? Sam wondered what he would become.

There's no surer way to screw up a person even more than to give them power. Dean said that he wouldn't let Sam become something he wasn't, but it was only so long before Sam did something to break Dean too – the only good thing that had been in his life the whole way through it. His humanity. Dean was somewhere between his anchor and his boomerang. He kept him grounded, and when Sam ran, Dean always brought him back. But if he hurt Dean, then that would be it. That would be what was left of Sam's humanity, and possibly his sanity – gone. There would be nothing left.

In the still of the night, Sam would relive the pain of Jessica burning before his eyes. He'd see the torment of strangers that he would eventually try and help. He'd earn no rest, but it had been a while since Sam had felt worthy of it. He'd wake up with pain slicing through his head, but he would grin and bear it. He didn't complain. Because whilst he could still feel the pain, he knew he still had a shadow of a soul left. So he let the pain wash over him, and let him know that he was still alive. And whilst Sam was still alive, he would try to put the things back together, and try not to break anything else. Even if he knew within himself that these were battles he would never win.


End file.
